


The Man Who Has Everything

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Hotch x Reader / Hotch x You [25]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Presents, Breakfast, Breakfast in Bed, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Happy 49th Birthday Aaron Hotchner, Happy Birthday Aaron Hotchner, M/M, One Shot, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Romance, Short One Shot, Surprise Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: You and the Hotchners celebrate Hotch’s 49th birthday with breakfast and presents.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Series: Hotch x Reader / Hotch x You [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862236
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	The Man Who Has Everything

When Hotch crawled into your bed, you faked sleep. It wasn’t technically his birthday yet, according to the clock, and he had just made it back from a near weeklong case. Your first gift to him on his special day would be uninterrupted, much needed sleep, even though you really wanted to roll over and smother his face in kisses – forty-nine of them.

So, it was with much difficulty that you lied still, listening to Hotch snuffle into his cool pillowcase and inch closer to your body until he could spoon you from behind. His breathing evened out in no time at all, and you fell asleep just when he started to snore. It was the only lullaby that you ever needed.

The next morning, you forced yourself to wake up before him. Usually that was a challenge, but considering how hard Hotch worked in the last week, he was still snoring like a bulldozer when you woke up. Carefully, you turned over to look, a difficult feat considering the death-grip he had on your waist, but he did not stir. Sunlight poured in through the thin curtains and fell across his face, but Hotch slept through it anyway. It would be the heat that would wake him, not the light.

You felt it was safe enough to indulge, so you cupped your palm over his cheek. The bristles of his barely-there stubble scraped pleasantly against your fingertips as you traced circles over his high cheekbones. His eyelids twitched from the REM cycle, which wasn’t a surprise considering the lateness of the hour when he fell asleep and the earliness of the present hour. Briefly, you pressed the pad of your thumb over your boyfriend’s mouth before pulling away out of his grip. Hotch’s hands replaced you with your pillow as he cuddled into it, his nose suffocating against the pillowcase. With a smile – and after snapping a quick photo on your phone – you left him be, snagging his phone on the way out as well.

Considering the nature of Hotch’s job, you didn’t dare switch his phone off or on silent, but if it was an emergency, you could also run back and give it to him anyway. He already had two birthday messages, one from Rossi who must have stayed up late drinking judging by his typos and one from Garcia that she probably programmed to come in at exactly midnight. Hers had more emojis than words, but both messages were sincere and made you smile. You were sure Hotch would smile at them as well, but later.

On bare feet, you snuck into Jack’s bedroom where he was also snoring the day away. His snores were still cute for now, even though he was in the middle of his teenage years at fifteen. In time, you knew he would grow into those big rattling snores like Hotch, but that was as far as their similarities went with sleep. While Hotch slept like a rock, Jack must of dreamed of wrestling snakes every night. It never failed that his blankets would end up tangled around his legs, and the top sheet always came untucked from the bottom of the mattress. You supposed he must have gotten that from Haley, or maybe it came from too many late nights staying up waiting for his father. But you didn’t want to think of that just then; this was a day for happier thoughts.

As you gently shook his shoulder, you whispered to Jack, who was your son in all but blood and name, “Wake up, G-Man. I need you for a very important mission.”

Jack groaned, but did not open his eyes as he asked, “Birthday pancakes?”

“You got it. Are you gonna help me or are you gonna be a lazy-bones?”

Finally, he did peel his eyes open, and it was the spitting image of Hotch’s glare as those brown eyes blearily peered up at you. “Fine, but they have to be blueberry pancakes.”

Stepping back so Jack could get up, you shook your head at him with a half-smile tugging at your mouth. “It’s your dad’s birthday, buddy.”

“I know; he likes blueberry.” Jack straightened out his shirt and led the way to the kitchen. You did not remind him to make his bed because it was a special day, so you just followed behind him instead. “And Dad’s turning almost-fifty, so we should just make the turkey bacon instead.”

Laughing softly, you teased, “Oh? Concerned about your dad’s arteries? And this isn’t because you’re still trying to convince him to be a vegetarian like you?”

Jack shrugged with all the eloquence a teenager has. “It’s not like I’m making him one of those kale smoothies.”

“Yuck, you got me there.” You wrinkled your nose at him playfully as you started gathering the ingredients to whip up breakfast. Jack stepped around you in a practiced dance as he ducked in the pantry, too. “So, blueberry pancakes, turkey bacon, anything else?”

“What about those omelets that he likes?” At your surprised look, Jack explained, “Hey, it’s his birthday, not mine. I don’t have to eat any omelets.”

You affectionately tousled Jack’s messy bedhead that had the same two cowlicks Hotch had. Jack tolerated it, though you knew he wouldn’t for long the more he woke himself up. “Proud of you, bud. Okay. You handle the pancakes?”

* * *

When Hotch woke up, his internal alarm clock told him that he slept in, but it still didn’t feel like enough. The first thing he registered was that his face was warm, but there was a conspicuous lack of warmth in his arms. He had a nosegay of your unique scent, half your shampoo, half your sweat, but when he opened his eyes, he found that you were missing from his bed.

Hotch dropped his head back against his pillow. His ears detected the banging sounds in the kitchen before his nose caught a whiff of sizzling meat. Right. Birthday Breakfast.

Sure enough, here you and Jack came before Hotch even bothered to wander out of bed. “Happy birthday!” You both chimed, perky in spite of the hour, but you both had been awake and well-rested longer compared to him.

Slowly, Hotch pushed himself up. “Thanks, bud. Thanks, sweetheart. It looks great.” And it did. Jack was quite a chef at his age, due to the frequency and necessity of him having to be independent while Hotch was at work, but Hotch didn’t feel too guilty about it. He was about the same when he was Jack’s age, and his brother Sean became a culinary genius when it was his turn.

“We’re not gonna give you any coffee until you finish the orange juice,” you told Hotch when you caught him searching for a coffee mug. “And then I’m cutting you off after a cup. It’s your birthday; your entitled to take a nap.”

“Yeah, it’s my birthday, but I’m not old yet. I don’t need to take a nap.” Hotch started digging into his pancakes, and once he had the first bite, it was a free-for-all as you and Jack snatched pieces off of his plate. It was tradition, so Hotch didn’t complain.

“What else is on your agenda today, Dad? Besides a nap,” Jack asked around a mouthful of blueberry pancake.

“Nothing except paperwork. And the team wants to treat me to dinner, maybe a few rounds at the bar. Speaking of,” Hotch lifted his eyes from his plate. “Where’s my phone?”

With a sigh, you passed it over. “Just a few happy birthday texts. Nothing major.”

Hotch took his phone without looking and set it aside. “I’ll look later.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your mouth that set out a flurry of butterflies in your gut. When he pulled away, you glanced at Jack, who had ignored you both. Hotch mirrored your look and nodded, an unspoken ‘later,’ passing between the two of you. That would be your third gift to him today. The second gift was breakfast.

“What do you think your team got you for your birthday?” You started up the game, returning your attention back to the remnants of breakfast.

“Aunt Penny probably made him the birthday cookies, and maybe knitted him a beanie,” Jack ticked off on his fingers with ease that only came from practice. “Uncle Spence probably got you another law book, and maybe this one will be in English. Uncle Dave probably got you Broadway tickets for our annual New York Christmas vacation. Aunt Emily sent you something from Europe to tempt you into coming to visit her. And Aunt JJ and Uncle Derek probably got you another Gucci tie or some argyle socks. Or cologne. Or a fountain pen. Boring stuff. Office supplies like sticky notes.”

“Useful stuff,” Hotch countered before shifting gears. “So where are my presents?” Hotch prompted.

Jack sighed. “What can you get the man who has everything?”

He had a point. Hotch was difficult to shop for, much preferring the love that came with actions and quality times.

But then Jack was smiling and disappearing out of the room only to reappear with a gift bag. Jack was a terrible wrapper. All of his gifts came in bags, which was less exciting to open, but much easier to clean up and reuse. He passed it to his father with another whispered happy birthday, and Hotch made a show of reaching in and pulling something out.

“A picture frame,” Hotch said, and then squinted at the picture. When his face softened, there were tears brewing his eyes. Without a word, he turned it around to show you, and you choked. It was a picture of the three of you, before you and Hotch even started dating. This was back when you were just the annoying apartment neighbor who couldn’t figure out how to work the communal washer in the basement. Jack wasn’t even twelve. It was amazing how far you came; you never thought you’d be here, be so in love or so happy, but there were no regrets.

“Screw you, Jack,” you laughed through your tears, shoving at his shoulder. “My gift looks bad in comparison.”

To his credit, Jack didn’t cry like you and Hotch, but he did look deeply embarrassed by the attention. “What did you give him? Maybe he’ll stop crying.”

Hotch scoffed and dragged Jack in for a hug, careful not to overturn the empty breakfast plates. Both Hotchner men were all arms as they squeezed each other tight, Hotch’s cheek resting against the top of Jack’s head and Jack’s chin hooked over his father’s shoulder. Hotch’s eyes were closed, tear tracks glistening in the sunlight, but Jack was looking at you with shiny eyes and a chagrined expression despite his weak smile.

You waited until they let go of each other before you leaned over to the bedside table to pull out your small gift box. “Oh, a watch?” Jack guessed, the same skeptical squint of his eyes as his father.

“Close,” you hedged. “It is a piece of jewelry that has to do with time.” Biting your lip, you passed it into Hotch’s hands. While he made short work of tearing away the wrapping paper, you gathered the breakfast plates and set them out of the way on the nightstand, avoiding Hotch’s keen profiling gaze.

His present sat inside a plan white box, which he opened, and inside that was a mahogany brown jewelry box that had Hotch sucking in a deep breath. When he looked up at you, you were already on one knee on the floor and Jack was glued to his spot on the mattress, eyes wide. It was a surprise for the both of them. “I know this is… a little unorthodox…. But uh…” You started and stumbled before waving your hands with frustration. “Open the box.”

Using his thumb, Hotch flipped the lid of the box open to reveal a seemingly innocuous golden wedding band. “Sweetheart,” he choked out, and started crying just as softly and quietly again in earnest.

“Aaron, please marry me so I can be part of you and your son’s life for all yours and my remaining years?” You rolled your eyes a little. “Officially, anyway.”

In his haste to get you, Hotch practically fell out of the bed, taking half of the comforter with him. You were right to move the breakfast plates out of the way or you’d have a mess on your hands, but as it was, all you had was an armful of Hotch as he pulled you in for another kiss. This was deeper than the last, and a little wetter and saltier from his tears. Then there were two sets of arms around you as Jack climbed on the floor, too, clinging to your back like a koala bear.

When you pulled away to breath, you laughed, your hands shaking despite the tight grip you had on Hotch’s hard biceps. “Uh, so that’s a yes?”

“Yes!” Jack broke in impatiently, hooking his bony chin over your shoulder now. “He’ll marry you.”

Still, your gaze drifted to Hotch to be sure.

You had never seen him so happy. It was like the sun rose and set on his face with as wide a grin he had. “I will. I’ll marry you.”

Again, you were laughing, almost in disbelief. “Great.” You managed to snag Hotch’s left hand and find the ring where Hotch had dropped the box. Despite the tremble of his hand on yours, you slid the golden wedding band on the proper finger and admired how the morning light shone on your fourth gift to him. This gift was good enough after everything he has given you in turn. And then you were the one feeling like you had everything you wanted.


End file.
